


Won't Be Ugly Anymore

by kadabralin



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, Self-Hatred, Skin picking, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18503212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadabralin/pseuds/kadabralin
Summary: Sometimes the Squip was actually helpful, or mostly helpful. Jeremy looks in the mirror and hates what he sees, but the Squip, surprisingly, reassures him.





	Won't Be Ugly Anymore

Jeremy stared at his reflection in the mirror, parting his hair this way and that, wrinkling his nose irritably at the particles of dead skin that flaked off and floated down. The more he fussed with his hair the worse the flaking became apparent, making himself feel worse in the process. He observed his scalp carefully, eyeing each scaly and flakey patch that covered his head, only marginally hidden by his hair. The urge to pick, to scratch, to utterly mutilate his diseased scalp until it bled, if only to alleviate the grotesque frustration he felt by looking at it, was nearly overwhelming. Instead, he bit his lip and tore his gaze away, fixating on a small freckle on his arm.

Sometimes Jeremy contemplated the benefits of shaving his head. He thought about digging around for his dad's electric shaver and getting it over with, a desire almost equally as strong as the urge to pick his skin raw. He was ugly and disgusting, a dead skin sloughing machine, revolting and completely undesirable. Maybe, somehow, cutting every strand of hair down to the root would alleviate the problem, or at least make it easier to manage.

Or it could make things worse. He imagined himself showing up to school the next day, head completely shaven, and realized it would be a fruitless effort. The image of himself in his head looked even worse than he already did. Everyone would stare, and ask questions, or giggle and sneer behind his back. Jeremy reached for the half-empty bottle of Head & Shoulders on the countertop and tossed it aggressively into the trash. It was worthless, this entire thing was pointless, he'd be miserable and uncomfortable in his own skin the rest of his life.

It was more than just his scalp, now. It was all of him, every inch of skin, gross and dry and greasy; the acne on his face that still hadn’t cleared, the dryness around his nose and palms of his hands, the pimples on his back and shoulders. Jeremy wanted to step into the shower and scrub himself until he’d removed at least five layers, and maybe then he’d start to feel something akin to decency. His whole body itched and crawled while he turned the shower on and finally pulled off his clothes, the smell of public education and his own body odor still clinging to them.

“Leave your arm alone, Jeremy.”

He nearly jumped three feet into the air, startled by the Squip’s sudden arrival. He’d gotten used to it appearing out of nowhere, or hanging out with him, completely naked, in the bathroom. It was a computer in his head, so it wasn’t as if it didn’t already know everything anyway. There was no reason to be shy about it, not anymore. It was the Squip’s tone that alarmed him, calm and disapproving, that put him on edge, made him tense up and freeze in preparation for a painful shock through his spine.

It never came.

“Your arm is bleeding,” the Squip said patiently, corners of its mouth pulled down. Jeremy glanced down at his arm; he’d been scratching at the freckle unconsciously, skin bright red and irritated, blood crusting under his fingernails and along the small cuts he’d grazed into his skin. It stung now that he was aware of it.

“Oh.” Jeremy frowned and blotted at the wound with a wad of toilet paper he’d grabbed from the roll. “Sorry, I guess.” It wasn’t bleeding very much, practically just a friction burn, and scabs were already forming. 

It was going to sting like shit when he got into the shower.

“And take your shampoo out of the trash. You still need it.”

“What’s the point? It doesn’t work on my dandruff anyway.” But he obediently fished it out of the trash before throwing the bloodied toilet paper into it.

“You don’t have dandruff, Jeremy.”

“What?” He set the bottle of Head & Shoulders on the lip of the tub and tilted his head to stare at the Squip, nose wrinkled, brow creased. “Uh. Yeah, I do. You see that?” Jeremy pointed to the dusting of white specs that littered the dark tiles of the bathroom floor. “Dandruff.” 

“No, you have psoriasis. It’s different.”

“Sore-eye-what?”

The Squip stepped closer, close enough that Jeremy would feel the heat of its skin if it were an actual physical person. They surprised him by running their fingers gently through his hair. “Psoriasis. Seborrheic dermatitis, or what you call _dandruff_ , is fungal. What you have is an autoimmune disease.”

Jeremy chewed the corner of his mouth until the Squip gave him a warning look. “Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily. Your case is mild and only affects your scalp, but it could spread or develop into psoriatic arthritis in the future. It would be wise to establish a relationship with a doctor for treatment and observation.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” 

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Jeremy.”

“Can’t you just, like, tell me what I need to do so I can take care of it myself?”

The Squip eyed him. “I have a wealth of information, Jeremy, but I’m _not_ a doctor. There’s limits to what I can do for your health. So, no.”

“I can’t exactly just waltz into a doctor’s office. I don’t even think we have insurance.” Jeremy couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a doctor. It was something his mom had always taken care of, that and dentist appointments, or eye appointments, and, well… everything. But his mom wasn’t here anymore, never even bothered to send a birthday card, and his dad hadn’t bothered to pick up the slack, either. 

Thinking about it left a sour taste in the back of his mouth.

“Honestly, you have horrible excuses for parents.”

“Uh-”

“They should be making appointments for you, not me.”

“What.” Jeremy stood there, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before settling for an awkward shuffle of his feet and hunch of his shoulders. The Squip looked at him, unblinking.

“Monday morning you have an appointment to see a dermatologist. You’ll skip your morning classes and take the city bus.”

It took Jeremy a moment to process this. The bathroom mirror was starting to steam from the hot shower, still running without him actually in it. “You… Wait, what?”

“It's a doctor appointment. Keep up, this isn’t hard.”

“How am I supposed to go to a doctor without any money?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You just— just made an appointment for me without telling me?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I.”

The Squip finally blinked, expression cool but growing slowly annoyed by Jeremy’s constant questions.

“Why?”

“ _Why_?” The Squip frowned fully, a surprised and incredulous expression. It was almost distractingly human. Genuine confusion. “I’m here to improve your life, Jeremy. That’s what I’m _doing_. You need a prescription for your acne and for the psoriasis. This is how you get it— legally, anyway.” 

Jeremy almost started to protest, or maybe he just wanted a more thorough explanation, but he shut his mouth and turned toward the mirror instead. It was weird, and not something he thought the Squip could actually do, but it was oddly reassuring. He wiped away some of the condensation from the mirror to look at his reflection again. The Squip stood behind him, hand on his shoulder, leaning down to match his height.

“I know you aren’t satisfied yet, but don’t you remember how you were before me? How ugly you were? You’ve been following my instructions, and now you’re so much better already. Not perfect, but definitely better.”

“Better?” Jeremy glanced at himself, noting the acne and the scars and the redness and dry skin. It was true. A month ago his whole face was a red, pus-filled mess, skin on his hands so dry it was almost painful, and the flaking of his scalp had been so much worse. There was a definite improvement. The redness and irritation had gone down, at least half of the acne had cleared, and his scalp didn't itch nearly as bad as it used to. He smiled, a little calmer, a little less agitated with his own existence. 

The Squip smiled at him in return, petting the side of his face, voice lower, not quite a whisper.

“With me, you can achieve anything, Jeremy. Just trust me. You’re so close to your goal already. You aren't ugly anymore.”

Jeremy looked at himself in the mirror and for the first time, he actually completely believed them.


End file.
